


You Put The Boom Boom Into My Heart...

by The_Fannish_Imposition



Series: That's The Sweet Touch Of Love [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Apologies To George Michael, Author Has Delusions Of Humor, Dancing, Domestic Fluff, Has A Nodding Acquaintance With Canon Anyway, M/M, Making Out, Mentioned Stiles Stilinski, Seriously I'm Not Kidding About The Fluff, Sorry For Excessive Tags, Why Are Some of These Not Capitalized?, assholes in love, first fic, mentioned Derek Hale - Freeform, oh god what am i doing?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:46:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25604533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Fannish_Imposition/pseuds/The_Fannish_Imposition
Summary: Noah makes an unexpected discovery after a night at Peter's.  Affectionate trolling and fluffy shenanigans ensue.
Relationships: Peter Hale/Sheriff Stilinski
Series: That's The Sweet Touch Of Love [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2081673
Comments: 6
Kudos: 79





	You Put The Boom Boom Into My Heart...

**Author's Note:**

> For those not familiar with the song referenced in the title and throughout the fic, please [enjoy](https://youtu.be/ELflyACZXQQ) the original video in all it's 80s glory. (Side note: Titles are HARD, and I'm still not 100% happy with this one, but oh well. Going with it anyway.) 
> 
> Also, massive thanks to [Seven_Oomen](/users/Seven_Oomen/) for listening to me ramble on about the most random things and inadvertently helping me build up the courage to actually write some of my ideas down. This probably wouldn't have happened without you. Whether to be proud or ashamed of that is up to you. ;D I know things have been tough lately. Hopefully this helps at least a little bit.
> 
> Please enjoy this just over 4000 words of semi-shamelessly self-indulgent nonsense. Additional warnings for Excessive Use of Commas, Excessive Use of Italics, Probable Excessive Use of Parentheses, Probable Other Excesses Because I Have a Problem I'm Just Not Ready to Deal With It Yet, No Beta We Die Like Men, and General Lack of Anything Resembling an Actual Plot.

Awareness prodded listlessly at the edges of Noah Stilinski’s mind, but he was opting to mostly ignore it. He was perfectly comfortable floating here in his haze of cozy repose, thank you very much. Or, well. There was one thing that might improve it just a _bit_ more. He rolled onto his side and reached out with an arm, only to be disappointed when his questing hand encountered mostly cooled sheets instead of warm, bare skin. Grumbling softly under his breath, he snagged the abandoned pillow and curled grumpily around it, sinking back into a light doze. Awareness’s next attempt was far less subtle. Inner Circle’s well-known anthem1 to the misbehaved suddenly blared forth from beside the bed, indicating that sometime during his last visit Stiles had managed to get a hold of his phone and redo some of the notification settings to suit his own warped sense of humor.

Noah came surging up out of his cocoon of memory foam and expensive sheets, hand flailing towards the nightstand as he made a mental note to murder his son the next time he saw him. Finally managing to get his phone silenced, he opened it to see just what was so important it warranted contacting him at- he squinted at the clock in the upper corner of the screen- half past seven in the morning (okay, so not _that_ early, but he’d had a late night dammit, and had planned on sleeping in.) Speaking of his wayward progeny. The text was from Stiles, and just said “Made it to Wyoming!” The accompanying picture was a not-entirely-successful attempt at using forced perspective to show him ‘climbing’ Devil’s Tower. Derek was clearly the one holding the phone for their selfie (and just as clearly less than pleased about it), looking over his shoulder with the same mix of exasperation and fondness that he often bestowed upon Stiles. Noah could relate. _‘On many levels’_ , he thought with a glance towards the bedroom door.

“Be safe, kiddo. Love you,” he sent back, too tired for anything more right now. He tossed the phone aside and rubbed his hands vigorously over his face to try and clear away some of the lingering clouds of sleep. Scratching absently through graying sandy hair he tried to smooth down any weird tufting or static. The fading tendrils of adrenaline in his system all but guaranteed he was now officially up for the day. He was still absently debating trying to hunt out where the remote to the large flat screen on the far wall had ended up, or if he should just stick to reading the news on his phone, when he began to catch the delicious aroma of freshly brewed (and probably extremely high quality) coffee drifting gently through the open doorway, accompanied by the faint throb of distant music. He considered his options for a moment, loath to leave the warmth of the bed, before finally admitting to himself that the lure of good coffee and better company far outweighed that of even thousand-thread count Egyptian cotton. Sliding to his feet, he snagged the nearest pair of pajama pants he saw and pulled them on. Judging from the feel of the dark fabric, and the way the hems swirled high around his ankles, they had to be Peter’s, but frankly he couldn’t be bothered to find another pair. Besides, what kind of boyfriend would he be if he took away the opportunity to make a joke about ‘getting into his pants’?

After a brief stopover in the en suite bathroom to answer Nature’s increasingly demanding call, and get rid of the lingering taste of stale, warm death in his mouth, Noah headed groggily out in search of his current stimulant(s) of choice. He meandered quietly down the hallway towards where it widened to a more open-concept living/dining/kitchen space, deeply grateful for the plush shaggy rug protecting his bare feet from the chilly, if beautiful, finished hardwood flooring. The promising scent of readily available caffeine was quickly joined by that of cooking food (Noah hoped it was something rich and vaguely unhealthy.) His brain still sluggishly coming online, it took a while before he began to consciously register just what he was hearing, tilting his head towards the echoing strains of...was that... _George Michael?_ Turning at the edge of the wall where the hall met the kitchen, he stopped and leaned against the end of the counter, staring in shock at the sight in front of him. 

The early morning sunlight flooded through the penthouse’s wall of windows and the double sets of glass doors leading out to the balcony, reflecting off of swathes of polished wood and mirror-bright metal, and casting everything in a luminous golden glow. In the kitchen it glistened off the brushed silver hardware and stainless appliances, shimmered off the flecks of mica embedded in the white granite counter tops, and made the ribbons of blue resin cutting through the wooden island top blaze as if lit from within. Noah noticed precisely none of it. His attention was entirely captivated by the man standing at the stove and...dancing. There really was no other word for what he was seeing. Peter- Peter _Hale_ -was _dancing_ as he cooked what appeared to be pancakes, judging from the small stack on a plate next to the lit burner. He bobbed and swayed along to what was arguably Wham’s biggest hit with all the casual unconcern of someone who has yet to realize they’ve gained an audience. There was even the occasional twist and shimmy thrown in for good measure. Noah felt hopelessly charmed and fondly amused (and possibly a few other, deeper things that it was far too early to be thinking about.) He watched in silence for a few minutes, awed at the chance to see his lover so unguarded.

Out of the corner of his eye he spotted the still full French press resting on the counter next to two as yet unfilled mugs. Somehow he managed to pour himself a cup without actually tearing his eyes away from the show in front of him. The first sip was just as decadent and delectable as the aroma had been promising him. But admittedly still less mouth-watering than the way Peter’s ass looked wiggling back and forth in a pair of very snug, very short charcoal boxer briefs. The ratty t-shirt providing scant splatter protection Noah recognized as a missing one of his own, despite the fact that the “Property of Beacon Hills Sheriff’s Dept” on the front was faded almost illegible with countless washings. He also knew the shirt, now more heather than gray, was worn to an almost ridiculous softness, holes scattered around the neck and hem from time and use. It had probably absorbed quite a bit of scent over the years, as well, so he couldn’t say he was particularly surprised to find that the werewolf had stolen it. At least he knew what had happened to it now.

The sudden and enthusiastic use of the spatula as a makeshift microphone (the better to hit the high notes) must have startled a sound out of him, or perhaps his heartbeat or his scent finally registered to the unusually distracted wolf. Peter abruptly spun around to face him, eyes wide with shock and expression bordering on mortified before he visibly locked it all down into what was clearly meant to be one of haughty indifference. Luckily for Noah he’d been taking another drink at the time, hiding what he was sure was a disgustingly besotted grin, so that by the time he lowered his mug he’d managed to wrangle his own look into one of politely bland indifference. Silence reigned between them for a few endless moments. The song finished winding down and started to transition into what might have been “Careless Whisper” before Peter shot a hand out to shut down the little Bluetooth speaker. He cleared his throat and seemed to be doing his best to determinedly ignore the twin bright spots of color that were emerging high on his cheeks, outlining a deeply unfair bone structure and well above the protective cover of his scruff. (Noah himself was absolutely living for them. He hadn’t even been certain Peter _could_ blush.)

“So...I see you’re up and about already. I thought perhaps you’d want to sleep in a bit longer.” Peter’s tone wasn’t nearly as casual as he obviously hoped it would be, but he was trying.

“My son decided to let me know that he and your nephew had finally made it to their next stop. They should hit Yellowstone by the end of today, as a matter of fact. I’m a little surprised you didn’t hear that ringtone he insists on because he thinks he’s funny.” He gave a one-shouldered shrug. “But then I suppose you were...otherwise occupied when he texted.” He punctuated his comment with another sip of coffee.

Peter’s gaze narrowed minutely, although his stiff posture seemed to thaw just a fraction. “Apparently Stiles isn’t the only one with such delusions.”

“Excuse you, I happen to know for a fact that I’m very funny. Just in a way that’s rarely truly appreciated.”

“Oh, really?”

Noah nodded as he continued to nurse at his source of precious caffeine. “Mm-hmm. It’s a proud Stilinski family tradition, in fact, like unhealthy coping mechanisms, awkward use of humor during emotional moments, and unexpected conversational segues. I’m sure someone as naturally observant as you has noticed it by now.”

“You know, if you’re going to be like this, you could have just stayed in bed.”

“I _did_ think about it, but this is where the coffee is. And, well, you know. **_You._** ” He glanced bashfully down at the mug in his hands before flicking his gaze back up. “Comfortable as your bed is, it just couldn’t quite compare.”

A smile was beginning to twitch at the corners of Peter’s mouth, and his stiffly crossed arms had begun to shift down into a loose hug around his waist. “You know, you’re not as cute as you think you are.”

Noah sat his now mostly empty mug back down on the counter and began a slow stalk towards the other man. “I don’t think I’m cute. Myself, I’d put somewhere between ‘vaguely handsome-ish’ and ‘not-a-total-loss’.” He wrapped his arms around Peter’s shoulders, nuzzling happily into the messy, still un-styled waves at his temple. “I think _you’re_ cute.” He leaned down to whisper into his ear. “Especially when you blush.” Suddenly there were hands shoving with mock irritation at his chest, the lack of any real strength behind the gesture as well as the smile that was unmistakably breaking through giving away the truth. Noah tightened his embrace in response, pressing soft kisses behind Peter’s ear, down the cords of that distracting neck, and back up over the flushed curve of his cheek. Eventually he pulled back just a bit, as mischievous storm blue eyes met shining, if still slightly anxious, sapphire.

“Good morning, Peter.” He dropped a gentle kiss to those smiling lips. “Thank you for an excellent evening.” A second kiss. “And a wonderful start to my day.” Yet another kiss, this one lingering a bit. The hands on his chest began to slide teasingly up tanned skin, trailing over mouth-shaped bruises and only partially healed stubble burn, before finally cupping his jaw in a sure, steady grip. A faint shiver wracked his frame at all the ghosting touches, and he felt Peter’s smile widen in response as the kiss ended.

“Good morning, indeed.” His voice was almost back to it’s normal levels of cockiness. He darted a quick kiss to the corner of Noah’s mouth. “And you are **very** welcome.” One to his chin. “Even if you are an asshole.” The next kiss was devouring. Noah nipped sharply at his lower lip in retaliation for that last comment, drawing a shuddering breath from Peter and causing him to press even closer. Sliding his hands slowly down his lover’s back, he began turning them incrementally away from the stove. Peter flung a hand out as they moved, flipping off the burner and shoving the pan off its heat source. Now that he actually thought about it, there was certain ‘very much overdone’ fragrance hanging in the air. But no alarms were going off as yet, and Noah frankly had far more important things to think about. Most of which involved the man in his arms. His wandering hands glided down over the lovely curves of Peter’s ass, giving an affectionate squeeze that earned him a pleased rumble. They briefly slid even lower as Noah stooped slightly, wrapping themselves around muscular thighs, dark hairs tickling his palms as he lifted the wolf up to sit on top of the kitchen island without once breaking their kiss.

Peter’s legs immediately shot out to encircle his waist and draw him close, hands sliding down to cross behind his neck and grip tightly at his shoulders. Shifting his own hands back upwards, Noah dipped beneath the t-shirt’s hem in search of warm skin over toned muscle. For several very very long, very very enjoyable minutes, the only music to be heard was the rhythm of their own rasping breaths and the wet, desperate sounds of their lips repeatedly meeting and parting as they made out with all the intensity and single-minded focus of men half their age. Their hips ground together with a steady, if leisurely, roll, their grasping nails leaving faint red lines to mark their amorous passage. With one final sucking **pop** , Peter at last pulled back to grace him with a contented smirk. His lips were swollen and damp, the deep rosy color matching the renewed flush in his cheeks. His pupils were blown dark, gaze hungry and just a little bit wicked. (Noah figured he himself probably just looked vaguely dazed.)

“Mmmm. If I knew insulting you would get me this sort of reaction I’d do it far more often.”

“Brat.” The bite to his lip was sharper this time, the rumble it pulled from Peter’s chest now practically a growl. “Calling me names and stealing my clothes? What **am** I going to do with you?”

Peter leaned in to press their foreheads together. “I know that I can think of quite a few things involving those wonderfully capable hands of yours, and far fewer layers.”

Noah made a thoughtful noise. “Well. I guess it _would_ be nice if I could touch your body.” His tone was pure deadpan. “I know not everybody has got a body like you.”2

Peter just stared at him blankly for a second, before a completely undignified snort burst from him without warning. He buried his face in Noah’s neck, shoulders shaking as he fought to get his laughter under control. Noah allowed himself a few seconds of pride at the reaction he’d managed to provoke.

“Oh my god, that was absolutely terrible and you should be ashamed. How did you even- That song hadn’t even played yet-,” he cut himself off quickly, but not before apparently revealing more than he’d intended. The grin that stretched Noah’s lips was equal parts boyish and gleeful.

“Yet? Does that mean there’s a whole playlist? Will I get to experience all of it one day?”

“...You’re an awful boyfriend and I don’t know why I like you.” The words were muffled and damp against the join of his shoulder and neck, but still perfectly audible.

“You know, I don’t even need to be able to hear your heartbeat to know you’re lying,” he replied, mouthing teasingly at the earlobe nearest him, fingers dancing lightly along Peter’s sides. The fading snickers surged back into existence, almost toppling over into outright giggles before his wrists were very pointedly caught and lowered towards his own waist, safely away from his area of attack.

“Stop, stop, stop!” His face finally rose from its hiding place, all bright smile and sparkling eyes. Noah felt momentarily breathless at the sight. Thumbs started to idly stroke along his captive wrists with an unconscious ease. Peter drew a deep calming breath, his tone gradually regaining its usual smugness. “Fine. I suppose you aren’t wholly atrocious, but your sense of humor most assuredly is. Luckily for both of us, you have other attributes that more than make up for that particular shortcoming.” The tip of his tongue slipped out to wet still kiss swollen lips as his gaze roamed greedily down Noah’s bare torso. It lingered briefly at his waist, as Peter at last seemed to take in his choice of attire. His smirk got even wider, flirting with the edge of a full on grin. He caught his lower lip between his teeth in an apparent attempt to stop the spread.

“And you accuse **me** of clothes stealing?” He tilted his head consideringly. “I’ll admit, this isn’t _quite_ what I was hoping for when I was trying to get you into my pants. Pleasant though the overall effect is.” Warm hands wrapped around Noah’s hips, right where fabric met flesh. Long, bare legs were still hooked loosely behind his thighs, preventing him from stepping back any farther. As though that was something he’d even want. He curled his freed hands over Peter’s knees, stroking soothingly up and down, nails scratching lightly.

“They were close, and comfortable. Besides, I think I’m getting pretty good at pulling off designer clothing, don’t you?” he asked, taking advantage of the temporary shift in their height difference to shoot Peter a _look_ through his lashes. His answer was a head shake and a mildly pained groan.

“God, you really _are_ in a mood this morning, aren’t you?”

Noah shrugged nonchalantly. “I’m blaming you.” He leaned up and began kissing along the edge of Peter’s jaw, stubble scraping roughly at his lips. “Guess you’re just rubbing off on me.” He gave a harsh nip to that ridiculously tempting throat, tugging at the soft skin with his teeth even though he knew the mark wouldn’t last long. He could practically _hear_ the eye roll that accompanied the wolf’s ragged inhale. The breathiness was back in his voice when he replied.

“Good grief. If I take you back to bed do you think we can get you up on the correct side this time?” He captured Noah’s lips in a brutally hungry kiss with far more unwavering _intent_ than any of their previous efforts this morning. By the time he released him, it was Noah’s turn to deal with a distinct vocal huskiness, despite several attempts at clearing his throat.

“Well,” he finally rasped, “only one way to find out.”

Peter looked obnoxiously pleased with himself. Noah kind of wanted to wipe that self-satisfied smirk off of his lips. Preferably with his own. Before he could put his idle thoughts into action, Peter commented, “I am generally up for a bit of experimentation.”

“Uh-huh. Now who thinks they’re cute,” he asked, giving into the urge to nibble at shapely collarbones. They were just right there, after all.

“Excuse you, I happen to know for a fact that I’m cute. I believe you even said so yourself.”

“Did I now?” The question was mumbled against Peter’s Adam’s apple as he slowly made his way back up to that tempting mouth, leaving a trail of gentle sucking kisses the whole way. When he finally reached his destination, he flicked his tongue out to brush tauntingly across Peter’s own. Peter more than met his challenge, surging into the kiss and arching his body into him, pressing them tightly together. Another long and mutually delightful interlude passed. After a (very) pleasant while, a skillful twist of his tongue and a sinuous full body roll from Peter provided more than enough of a diversion to slip back to his feet and begin backing them towards the hallway and the bedroom beyond. Noah pulled slightly away as they reached the edge of the kitchen to glance at the partially cooked food.

“Much as I hate to interrupt, shouldn’t you, uh, put that away first?” He nodded vaguely to the long abandoned stove.

An unconcerned shrug. “I’ll just make more later.”

“Peter! That’s a waste of perfectly good food.” He was at least half serious, planting his feet and trying his best to inject some believable sternness into his voice. But the fingertips dipping below the waistband of his pants and the teeth gnawing a bruise just beneath where his shirt collar would lay were proving a hell of a distraction. After a couple of failed attempts to move forward, Peter huffed out a put-upon sigh.

“Noah, please recall that I am not above throwing you over my shoulder like a sack of recalcitrant potatoes if the need should arise. Which mine is rather beginning to do.”

Noah tilted his head with a thoughtful pout as he considered this. The fact that the movement drew Peter’s hungry gaze back to the mark he’d been making was just an incidental bonus.

“Not sure a shoulder to the gut would be helpful in building the mood you’re going for, but the view _would_ be rather enjoyable…”

Heated blue eyes took on a sly twinkle. “Fine.” Without any further warning he swept Noah up into his arms– in a bridal carry. Noah gave a startled shout, grabbing tightly at Peter’s shoulders. “Is this more appropriate to the ‘mood’?” His tone was back at its arrogantly taunting best as he started down the hall. The mildly awkward positioning and not-entirely-inconsiderable-if-Noah-was-honest-about-it weight didn’t seem to affect him in the slightest.

“You know, I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to the casual reminders of just how strong you wolves actually are.” His face went momentarily soft and almost shy. “But I look forward to the chance to try.”

“Sap.” It was said like an accusation, but both the tone and the eye roll were overlaid with a fond affection Peter couldn’t quite hide. Noah batted his eyelashes at him with an adoring pout.

“Are you going to carry me over the threshold?”

“You’re already in the residence. I don’t think that particularly applies anymore.”

Noah sighed dramatically. “Here I am trying to help you set a proper romantic mood and you’re doing your damnedest to thwart me at every turn.”

Navigating them skillfully through the doorway, Peter dropped Noah onto the unmade bed with a surprising level of gentleness before climbing in himself. He crawled over his lover, straddling his hips and setting up a slow, dirty grind, cock hot and insistent against Noah’s own. “And who says that ‘romantic’ is the mood I’m aiming for?” His gaze was impish and just a little bit sultry as he took in the man beneath him. He braced his hands low on Noah’s waist before drifting them slowly upwards, clever fingers tracing reverently over lingering scars and sturdy muscles, one scraping teasingly at a nipple as it passed. Eventually they wrapped themselves back around Noah’s wrists, pressing them lightly into the pillow on either side of his head as Peter curled down for a series of tender, steamy kisses. His hips continued their languorous roll, Noah’s twitching unconsciously up to meet them as the heat pooling low in his belly got harder and harder to ignore in favor of teasing his wolf. With a last quick peck, Peter broke away in search of air, his expression reflecting the same swirling mix of growing lust, easy contentment, and poorly hidden affection Noah could feel simmering in his veins.

“So, just how long will I have you all to myself today?”

“Luckily for you my shift doesn’t start until three, so we’ve got quite a few hours yet.” His smile turned wry. “Though I expect I’ll need to rest for at least a _little_ while before going in.”

His boyfriend gave an exaggerated pout. “You’re sure you can’t just call in, and stay here with me?”

Noah let out an amused sigh. “No Peter, I can’t.” He knew, he **knew** he shouldn’t, but he just couldn’t help himself. “But don’t worry. I’ll make sure to wake you up before I g-” The pillow to the face was admittedly probably well deserved, but given the peals of exasperated laughter it garnered...well. He snapped his arms up and around the other man, rolling them over so that he had a perfect view of the sheer, radiant, and above all undeniable _joy_ on Peter’s face. _‘Worth it.’_

**Author's Note:**

> Holy crap, still can't believe I actually finished this. Sorry for the slightly abrupt cut off. There was no way I was gonna try tackling actual porn on my first time out, I barely have the nerve to post this as it is. Additional apologies to anyone who developed cavities from this.
> 
> Please let me know what you think. Con-crit is tentatively welcome, this is my first fic and I have no beta, so please at least try to be kind. If you notice any glaring typos or flub-ups, please let me know, my brain tends to get ahead of my hands.
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoyed. If anyone needs me, I'll be over in the corner, breathing into a paper bag. (Am I exaggerating? Only slightly.)
> 
> 1\. Stiles's somewhat questionable choice of [ringtone](https://youtu.be/Xx0blzRFQRs). Also known as the theme song to COPS Back
> 
> 2\. Yes, he did, in fact just quote yet another George Michael [song](https://youtu.be/6Cs3Pvmmv0E) at Peter. Because like the Author, Noah thinks he's funny. Back


End file.
